The school building hid the danger from the children and they did not
comprehend the hoarse shouts of warning. But Fanny heard, heard the
childish laughter and the screams of horror. She knew those horses
must not turn that corner. Her feet swung against the shafts. Her
heel caught for a minute and she jerked with all her might. The mad
creatures swerved and dashed themselves and her against a telegraph
pole.
When they picked up little Billy and Fanny they were both unconscious.
One of Billy's little arms was broken, so violently had he been flung
about and against the iron bars of the scat. Fanny's injuries were
more serious.
They took her home to her spotless house with the children's dinner set
out on the red tablecloth in the kitchen. The pussy willows the
children had brought her the day before were in a vase in the center.
Her husband came home and spoke to her but she neither saw him nor
heard. They gave him a blood-stained bank book with his name on it.
And so she lay for days and sometimes Doc Philipps thought she would
live and at other times he was sure she couldn't; but if she lived he
knew that she would never again flit like vagrant sunshine through
Green Valley streets. She would spend the rest of her days in a wheel
chair or on crutches.
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